Some Like It Hot
by Mcbenzy
Summary: The town of Ballyk gets a dose of unusually hot weather, turning everything on its head. Tempers boil, emotions run high, and Liam and Donal may even have a good idea...
1. Chapter 1

_I'd like to say right now, that I have only ever watched seasons 1-3, so I'm not sure if they did this sort of thing in later seasons. I'm not too fussed if they did, as without Peter and Assumpta it's not quite the same._

_This is set some time after the death of the Javelin and before any retreats/ hasty marriages. In my world, they didn't happen.  
_

Disclaimer: none of it's mine, most especially the Fosters...

* * *

The townsfolk of Ballykissangel always looked forward to summer. The long warm days filled everyone with joy and optimism; life was good and even better when spent with friends and family. So when summer didn't arrive as expected, an air of disappointment settled over the town. The disappointment turned into frustration as the days turned into weeks, and still the mild days persisted.

The few who could, left their corner of the Emerald Isle for hotter climes. The majority, left behind, started to blame everyone and everything from the government to global warming to Michael Flatley.

Eventually, the mild spell broke and the weeks of missed heat were delivered in one fell swoop, wreaking havoc with the idyllic hamlet, and turning everything topsy-turvy.

* * *

The heat was unbearable. For five days straight, the mercury had been inching higher, and from all reports, it was only going to get worse. As Peter made his way to Fitzgerald's, he wanted nothing more than to strip his confining uniform off and stroll around in shorts and a singlet. He felt his brethren in permanently hot parts of the world deserved medals of honour for enduring such discomfort every day of their working lives.

The temperature in the pub was barely cooler than outside, and had the added discomfort of being packed – not what Peter was expecting on a hot Monday afternoon. Desk fans were dotted round the place, the largest of which was pointed at the teacher and mechanic at the end of the bar. The vet was nowhere to be seen; Peter was not about to let the opportunity to perch himself on her stool go to waste.

"Brendan. Padraig. How are things?"

They didn't respond immediately, their attention caught by the opening of the door. A pair of female tourists walked in; they watched as they walked up to the bar, ordered drinks and sat down at a table at the opposite end of the room, out of sight.

"Grand, just grand." Padarig drawled.

He could see that his companions were in no mood to make light conversation. Fortunately, Assumpta soon appeared to take his order.

"Before you ask, we're out of ice. So, what'll it be?"

She grabbed the fan that was pointing at the three of them, and turned it on herself. She was covered in a fine layer of sweat, making her skin glisten. There was a lot of skin he realised, noticing that she was wearing the flimsiest excuse for a t-shirt he'd ever seen. It looked like something out of a lingerie catalogue and it made Peter's mouth go dry.

"Cuppa tea please 'Sumpta" he croaked out.

She looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Tea?"

"We'll have another round of Fosters too." Liam piped in while it looked like she was still listening to orders.

"I've already told you that just because it's Australian doesn't mean it's any colder than the rest of the largers."

"Sure it is. It's made in a hot country, so when it gets here, it gets colder than all these local ones." Liam reasoned.

"But it's not even brewed in… Oh never mind." Assumpta folded, storming off to get their drinks.

Peter looked around him and noticed every pair of male eyes was on Assumpta. He followed their gazes and watched as she bent over to get the Fosters from the fridge under the bar and her top revealed a glimpse of hot-rod red bra.

"He's punishing us." the school teacher stated.

"Who is?" Peter asked.

"Your mate, up there. He's put a temper designed to kill a man in a beautiful woman, and placed it behind the only bar in town on a day as hot as hell."

"Those two don't know what's comin' to them if she catches wind of what they're doin'" Padraig commented, taking a sip from a can of Fosters.

"And no one's thought to warn them?" Peter asked, looking at Quigley's men.

"Some lessons are best learnt through experience." Brendan replied.

Assumpta unceremoniously dropped Peter's tea in front of him and went back to serve demanding customers at the other end of the bar. He watched as she took their order, and as she went to the same fridge and got another round of the blue and gold cans. He downed his tea in one gulp, as though it were a stiff drink.

"I would've thought Niamh would be here to help with the crowd." Peter noted after the show was over.

"She and Kieran are hiding out at her father's while he's away."

"Holed up in his air conditioned study is what I heard, running up the mother of all electricity bills." Padraig added with a hint of glee.

Peter could feel a trickle of sweat trailing its way down the back of his neck. He examined his empty cup. Without a drink or companionable chatter, there was little point in prolonging his stay. Just as he was about to take his leave, Assumpta came up again, turning the fan on her and ignoring the grumbles from her regulars.

"Want anything else Peter?"

_Can of Fosters. Can of Fosters!_ His mind yelled at him to say. "Nah, best be getting on my way. Father Mac has summoned me."

"Something serious?"

"I have no idea. He rang me out of the blue about two hours ago and told me to get to Kildargen and be quick about it."

"Two hours? Mustn't have been long after he left here then. Good to see you hurrying along so quickly."

"Well I couldn't possibly have left without first alphabetising my tea collection."

Assumpta chuckled and turned the fan back on the others. Peter started to leave, but was stopped by her voice calling to him.

"Early Gray? E or G?"

"You know, it's been two hours and I still haven't figured it out."

* * *

Father Mac's temper was short at the best of times, but with the heat and a tardy curate to deal with, his tolerance levels had dropped to all-time lows. He looked at Peter and noted the beads of sweat forming at his temples. He hope that keeping Peter as uncomfortable as possible would work in his favour; the young curate had far too much energy, and Father Mac was certain he took a contrary position just for a bit of sport.

"Father Clifford, it's come to my attention that the people of Ballykissangel are suffering from some sort of temporary heat induced madness."

"Well, it's hardly surprising. We're not really set up to cope with such things." Peter said, pulling at his collar while he watched the hairs on Father Mac's head be tossed about by the cooling air of the fan.

"That may be so, but it's your duty to make sure that they're being looked after and their energies guided in the right direction."

"Energies? Everyone is wilting. No one has any energy."

"Father Clifford, are you wilfully misunderstanding me? Your flock are spending their money in a rather haphazard way at the local pub, while your collection plate is left empty. It's your duty to change this. I was in there earlier and couldn't believe what I saw; people throwing their money away on imported beer after imported beer."

"Perhaps I could serve frozen margaritas during communion." Peter joked.

"This is no laughing matter, Father Clifford!" Father Mac bristled. "I _suggest_ you organise something to bring people together and get them out of Fitzgerald's!"

"And what do you 'suggest' I do? A wet t-shirt competition? Because I can't see anything else being able to rouse enough energy to get people involved."

Father Mac's face had turned several shades redder than it had already been. Despite the fan blowing directly on him, beads of sweat were forming on his brow as his frustration levels rose. He took a long deep breath before replying.

"You will have something appropriate organised for this weekend, or I shall be commandeering that lovely evaporative cooler in your vestry for use in the church here. Your parishioners will have no use for it if they're in the Alehouse instead of the house of the Lord."

Peter knew when he was defeated. He took his leave and made his way back home. If he could hardly muster the energy to get up in the morning, how on Earth was he going to rally the town to get behind an event?


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks to those following this, and to those who've taken the time to post a review a MASSIVE thank you._

_**Singtomemymedow** (and anyone else who has noticed) - the reason for me labelling it humour first was because it was the first on the list :) I have a feeling that this story could eventually end up pushing the barriers of the 'T' rating._

Disclaimer: they aren't mine, though they do like to play in the worlds I create...

* * *

The drive back to Ballyk seemed longer than usual. The little red Ford grumbled as Peter urged it faster and faster along the hilly roads. The heat increased as he neared the village, as did his feeling of defeat. Father Mac couldn't have given him a harder task if he'd tried. Peter had been somewhat proud of his ability to bring together the community, especially when it was least likely to succeed. His successes had gone a long way to making him feel like he was doing some good; that they also got under Father Mac's skin was an added bonus.

Peter pulled up outside his cottage and unfurled his lanky frame from the confines of the car. The feeling of relief was short lived; the heavy back fabric stuck to his skin, he needed to lift the weight on his body before he could free his mind for other things. Upstairs he discarded his Catholic garb, and donned that of his other religion: his Boro football kit. He knew it was crazy, some might call it a death wish, but he decided that going for a run might help him get some perspective.

* * *

Assumpta was run off her feet. She was glad for the increase in custom, but would've preferred it a fortnight prior when the humidity and heat of the packed bar weren't quite so stifling. Migrating to Fiji was now officially off her list of things she'd like to do, while running an ice bar in Norway was fast approaching the top. During a lull in orders, she had a chance to look around and take in her surroundings. There had been a subtle shift in the way people had been behaving which had not gone unnoticed by the publican, and was on full display this evening. The men of the town were in a trance – anything feminine had their full attention, while everything else slipped by unnoticed. For the most part, the women in town seemed to be enjoying the attention; they had embraced it, dressing in bright colours, sheer thin tops and flowing dresses. Even the vet had shed her knitted jumper and jeans for an outfit that would have looked more at home on the Costa del Sol than the country lanes of Ballyk.

Siobhan was perched on her usual stool, the recipient of Brendan's undivided and almost fawning attention. Assumpta had never seen Brendan so amenable to Siobhan's lectures. It made her feel slightly queasy. She couldn't understand how the heat had managed to turn so many normal people into lusty teens. She was all ready to launch into a rant on their behaviour when a certain curate walked in wearing shorts and a t-shirt. It was a testament to the distraction of everyone, that no one commented on his choice of clothes, or noticed that Assumpta's pupils had dilated, her breathing had become shallow, and a flush was spreading up her neck.

"What can I get you?" she asked when he approached the bar, wondering how her voice had become so breathy.

"The coldest thing you've got." he replied, sitting down, grabbing a napkin and wiping the sweat from his brow.

She stood, mesmerised by his movements. She had a vision of him on the stool, her standing between his legs, hands caressing his face, brushing away the sweat. The vision quickly changed to one where they were decidedly horizontal and working up a sweat. It took a while for her to register that he'd ordered, but she was glad for the excuse to move away from his distracting presence. She left an oblivious Peter to get his drink and cool herself down in the process.

Peter had taken a seat not far from Padraig, who'd been inching away from his all-too-friendly companions the past hour. Looking around he noticed a lot of coupling in the pub, and not of the standard husband/ wife or long-term boyfriend/ girlfriend variety. New pairings were everywhere to be seen; everywhere but for himself, Padrig, and a morose looking Ambrose. Even Liam and Donal were chatting with some attractive tourists.

"What's Ambrose doing here? I thought he'd be up the hill with Niamh and the baby, basking in a refrigerated environment." Peter asked Padrig when he was sufficiently dry and felt like he should make some conversation.

"Ah, well it seems that our Garda has something of the roving eye. The three of them came in for dinner, and Niamh caught Ambrose appreciating some of the tourist trade."

"Ambrose? Looking at another woman? I can hardly believe that. He's more likely to look longingly at a Cornetto."

"Well he says he was only being friendly like, and asking how they were enjoying the local countryside. Niamh says he was being over friendly like. Whoever you believe, the result is the same: he'll be alone in the Garda house tonight."

Padrig seemed more interested in his pint than chit-chat, and Ambrose had slinked off home, so Peter was left to his own thoughts. He'd still not come up with anything. Every idea he'd had he'd rejected almost immediately: a festival was too large; it was too hot for a friendly sporting match with a neighbouring town; and a quiz night would only encourage people into the pub. He was beginning to wish that Brian hadn't skulked off to the Algarve; he could always be relied upon to offer suggestions and help if there were a profit to be made.

Assumpta returned with a bottle with no label on it and heavy condensation on the glass. Peter picked it up and almost had to put it down again it was so cold. He looked at her questioningly. She replied with a shrug and turned her attention to Liam and Donal who were waiting to order.

"What would you boys like?" she asked.

"Four cans of Fosters please." Liam said, making sure his largess was being overheard by their new companions.

"Sorry, but we're fresh out. Pints of your usual perhaps?"

"Er… Give us a minute will ya?" Liam replied before turning to Donal.

"It's the same choices as every other night, but sure." Assumpta looked disbelievingly at the pair before turning back to Peter. "So, what's got you looking like you should be writing country ballads?"

"Father Mac's got it in his head that the people of Ballyk need some spiritual guidance when it comes to where they're spending their time and money during this hot spell."

"In other words, he wants their money out of here, and in the church. Typical. Why don't you try offering frozen margaritas during communion?"

Peter smirked. "I already suggested that."

"We'll have four of them thanks 'Sumpta." Liam cut in.

"Four of what?" she asked, confused.

"Them frozen things you were just talking about." Donal replied.

"Frozen margaritas? Sorry to disappoint you and your lady friends lads, but I don't have the machine for them."

"You mean there's a machine that makes frozen alcoholic drinks?" Donal asked, in awe of the idea.

The pair looked at each other and whispered. It was Liam who finally spoke.

"Two half pints of Guinness for the ladies, on us."

Liam put the money down on the bar and the two of them scurried off, leaving a confused publican to clean up their romantic mess.

* * *

The pub had emptied, and only Peter remained, staring at the map of the region. He'd been looking at it and the other pictures on the wall for well over half an hour, willing the answer to appear. All he'd managed to achieve was to make the beer in his hand warm. The sound of Assumpta bringing up bottles from the cellar roused him from his contemplation. He finished his drink as she returned.

"Can I give you a hand?"

"Sure. Pass us those will ya?" she said, indicating the bottles in the crate she'd unceremoniously dumped on the counter top.

He moved around to her side of the bar. He enjoyed helping her out, being on her side of the bar. It felt more comfortable than when he was sitting on the other side; it felt normal.

"Is this what I was drinking before?" Peter asked, holding bottle. It appeared to be an expensive imported beer; the label was in German. "What is it?"

"Beer. I thought you'd like it, it's brewed by monks in a monastery high in some European alps. They say you can taste God in every bottle. Which is why they cost more than triple everything else."

"Are you going to be able to sell these?" He said, handing her bottles, as she knelt on the floor.

"Let's just say there's a market for it at the moment."

"In Ballyk? I'd understand if this were a trendy Beer Bar in Dublin but I had a hard enough time getting people used to a different brand of communion wafer."

"Got rid of all that old Fosters didn't I?" she said as she put the last bottle in and stood up.

"What? Oh…" the implication dawned on Peter. "You knew what they were up to?"

"After the second round. I've had every man in here order a Fosters today, even your mate Father Mac." she smiled, stepping into his personal space. "If they're going to be so obvious, might as well make a profit out of it."

"Assumpta." his tone was one of chastisement and warning.

"You didn't order one, though I noticed you didn't look away when others did." she taunted, her body brushing against his as she moved to whisper in his ear, "I've got a purple lace bra and denim cut-offs that say I'll sell every exorbitantly priced thing in that fridge tomorrow."

Normally, she wouldn't have got so close to him, let alone linger, but she did. She allowed herself to let all her senses take him in: the heat radiating from his body, the smell of his aftershave mixed with the sweat of the day. She was so close that her breath tickled his neck. Peter inhaled sharply and held onto the bar so tightly his knuckles turned white; he wasn't sure where they'd end up if he let go.

He needed to jump in a lake to cool off.

"I've got it!" he cried, snapping both of them out of their trance. "A way to get Father Mac off my back, a chance for you to make some money, and for everyone to cool off!"

He was so excited and she was so close that he picked her up by the waist and spun her round. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He put her down, his hands still on her waist, his body pinning her to the bar. It was a position neither were prepared for. He couldn't explain how he'd let it happen, he was normally so careful about these things, and she couldn't understand how her hands had moved from his shoulders and were now stroking the back of his neck.

Neither one moved. They were stuck, unable to pull away, unable to move forward. A cool breeze blew through the pub.

"So you've got an idea?" she asked, moving away and grabbing two bottles of white wine to put in the fridge.

"Yeah, I'll have to check a few things, but I think it could just be the answer to our prayers."

* * *

_If you enjoyed, please take the time to review _:)


	3. Chapter 3

_As always, THANK YOU for the lovely reviews. Really, your words of encouragement keep me writing when I least feel inclined - which has been most days as the temperature here has been tipping 39C (102F). I shan't be punishing the residents of Ballyk with such horrors._

Disclaimer: yada yada yada, not mine.

* * *

A new day dawned on Ballykisangel. The sun rose with a renewed vigour and forced the mercury higher still. It was not enough to deterred the current resident of the rectory, and while he was not the only person in town up early, he was certainly the only one bursting with energy.

Peter didn't want to lose any time in organising his event. It wasn't going to be easy, and he knew that it relied on a few key figures; without their help it would all be in vain. Fortunately, he found open ears and ready hands. By lunchtime everything was organised except the participants and crowd. For that he'd need to head to the hub of activity.

Peter came bounding into the pub full of excitement. He knew that Fitzgerald's was at the heart of the community, and there was no better place for him to garner support. The now usual large crowd were in, and while the heat had caused an outbreak of severe lethargy, people were quick to sign up as participants and spectators. Peter handed out flyers to all and sundry, basking in the positive reception it received: the dullness that had settled over everything these past few days was replaced with a more lively tone. He was looking forward to Saturday, and the look on Father Mac's face.

"You look like the cat who got the cream." Assumpta commented, appearing as if from nowhere with a pint in hand for him.

"Well, I've had a good morning. Pulled in a few favours, used a healthy dose of good ol' Catholic guilt, et voilà! One community fundraiser organised." He took a long sip of the cool larger, and drank in the vision before him; it was just as she had warned. The purple lace was clearly visible through her white top, and her cut offs, though modest, revealed a pair of legs he'd like to spend a long time memorising. He was glad for the pint as he could continue drinking till he was capable of conversation.

"I take it you've cleared the fridge already." he finally managed.

"Cleared it, replenished it, cleared it again. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. I feel like I need more of a challenge."

"I hear they're trying to broker a peace deal in the Middle East." Peter deadpanned.

"Too easy. I might send Bono over to deal with that one, he could use the practice."

"Well, in that case, I may have just the thing for you. What are you doing Saturday?"

"Trying to convince you to be an atheist?" she grinned.

"Might take more than a day for that." '_Though I'm sure you could turn me into a sinner in a blink of an eye' _a voice in his head called out. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd…"

A loud bang as the pub doors swung open interrupted every conversation in the bar, including Peter an Assumpta's.

"Out of our way people! Important delivery comin' through."

Liam's voice could be heard before he was seen. He and Donal wobbled through the throng, carrying a large machine. They manoeuvred it to the far end of the bar and carefully put it down. Assumpta reluctantly went over to them.

"Here ya are 'Supmta." Liam said with a flourish.

"That's mighty nice of you boys, but what is it?"

"Just what every pub needs during a heatwave. A slushie machine!" Liam replied as if it were the most obvious thing on Earth. "And it's all yours for the bargain price of… hang on a tick."

Liam fished around in his shirt pocket, and produced a piece of paper which he handed to Assumpta. She studied the figure on it; it wasn't too bad really, but she had no need for the thing.

"In case it'd escaped your notice, no pub in all of Ireland has a slushie machine, and for good reason too: they're for kids."

"Ah, but that's where they're all missin' out Assumpta. With this you can make them frozen Margarets, or any other frozen cocktail." Liam said in his best impersonation of a salesman.

The look on her face told the lads that she wasn't yet convinced. "In the whole time I've been running this pub, do you have any idea how many margaritas, frozen or otherwise, I've had occasion to sell?"

They looked at each other and conferred, doing sums based on erroneous figures. Donal was given the job of replying.

"Over 400" he stated proudly.

"You're close." She replied, smiles forming on their faces. "Remove the hundred part, and you're spot on."

"Ah, well, y'see that's not all you can use it for." Liam bluffed, trying to rescue the situation.

"Really now. Well, do tell me lads, what else I could use it for, seeing as I don't have all that many kids to serve, or margaritas to make. I can't imagine frozen Guinness would go down too well."

They knew she had them, that their chance to make a quick spot of cash was evaporating faster than a spilled pint on the pavement outside. Somehow, Donal forgot his usual place of saying nothing in important negotiations, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Cider! Accordin' to the man who sold it us, the best drink he made was an apple slushie. Cider is just apple juice, so it'd make an excellent frozen drink." he ended triumphantly.

It was a good idea, a great idea if it worked. Assumpta narrowed her eyes, the numbers quickly adding up in her head. Even if the hot spell only lasted a few more days she'd make more than double her money back.

"OK, you've got yourselves a deal IF it works. I'll take it on approval until Wednesday. If I've not been able to get it up and running by then, you'll take it away, no questions asked. If it works, I'll pay you exactly what you want, and throw in a pint of the frozen stuff."

"A pint each?" Donal asked excitedly.

"Sure. Now, set it up over there." she pointed, indicating an area behind the bar.

She supervised them as they set it up, occasionally glancing over at Peter. He was going from table to table, handing out flyers and talking with people. The exhaustion and frustration that had marred his face the previous day was gone, and he looked animated and happy. The occasional glace turned into outright staring as she watched him laugh with some of the regulars. Despite how uncomfortable it was in the hot pub, she felt incredibly happy seeing him like that, just as it had pained her the previous night to see him so dejected. When her emotions had become so linked to his she couldn't say, but she wanted Liam and Donal to hurry up.

It probably only took fifteen minutes for them to finish, but it felt like an hour. Peter caught Assumpta's eye, and he made his way back to the bar. She disposed of several customers quickly and returned to him.

"Looks like you've got everyone excited about your do. So, what exactly is it you've pulled off?"

Peter slid a flyer across the bar to her. She looked at it intently. It was just like him to come up with such a crazy, off the wall idea. It was just mad enough to work. The look of joy on his face made him even more endearing, and she couldn't help but smile at his contagious optimism.

"You have to be kidding." she chuckled.

"Nope. I've got Brendan, Michael and Siobhan to judge, and prizes organised. I was hoping you'd be able to put on the bar."

"What, you think people are going to need a bit of Dutch courage?"

"Not quite. From the response I've had this morning, I think you could do well out of it."

"So it's not you thumbing your nose at Father Mac? Get the people out of the pub, then bring the pub to them?"

"No… Well, maybe a little. Look, you've had everyone in the region in here in the last few days, I guess I was hoping that with you and a bar there, it'd guarantee the biggest crowd possible."

"By our powers combined sort of thing?"

"My legwork, your legs. There'll be no stopping us." he encouraged.

"Fine, fine. I'll do it. But," she looked at him pointedly, "I'm not going to wear a bikini just to bring in the masses."

"Who said anything about a bikini? I was hoping for a corset."

Peter had been meaning to add "to bring them in", but for some reason those words never left his mouth and all he could think about was her in a purple lace corset, untying the laces and...

"A flying birdman rally. This heat really has made everyone cuckoo." she said good naturedly

She let his comment slide. She didn't think she had the defences to deal with it today. He was working his magic on the lethargic town, and on her. Wanting to move away before either let something else slip they shouldn't, she picked up his empty glass and a pile of flyers, and left Peter to finish a rather sinful train of thought.

* * *

Note - I've tried to post a link to a birdman rally site in case you haven't seen one... This site won't let me! Google Moomba Birdman Rally for info and a video :)


	4. Chapter 4

I want to thank everyone who has been posting lovely fics over the Christmas period! And as always, a super big thanks to everyone who has reviewed. You have given me the impetus to write, even as I had to return to a job I loathe (and that sucks all my writing abilities) after nearly a month off.

Now, for the half of the world who are currently in winter: close the windows, turn up the heaters, pop on your warmest clothes, and pretend it's summer!

Disclaimer: I asked Santa if I could have them for Christmas. He said I'd been too naughty this year...

* * *

If Mother Nature had a plan for the residents of Ballykissangel, they were oblivious to it. Each day was hotter than the previous, and there was still no reprieve on the horizon. All were ignoring weather reports and were taking matters into their own hands. Some read tea leaves, others read prayers, and a few read some books then tried their hand at a rain dance. Then there were those – like the priest and the publican – who carried on as usual.

* * *

It wasn't until Thursday that Peter was able to even contemplate heading to the pub. The previous days had seen him travelling around the whole region signing people up for the rally, having a brief and satisfying meeting with an irritated Father Mac, inspecting the site for the event, and holding confession. It had been a busy session today. People were coming in for things they'd normally store for later – or not confess at all – and he couldn't understand it. Kevin was the last person to grace his booth, and he was hardly surprised by the subject, it was one he'd heard all day.

"Ah," he said to the youth on the other side, "you hardly needed to ask for forgiveness for finding a girl in the form above attractive."

"Yes, but Father, I think about her all the time. I seek her out at breaks and delay going home till I know she'll be on the same bus just so I can talk to her. I've even entered the rally to try and impress her."

"Does she know you what you're doing?"

"Well, she must know I like her. It's obvious to everyone. All my friends have been teasing me about it. I've even had dreams about her…"

Peter sighed. He wished they weren't having this talk, not in the confessional; teenage relationship advice was best dispensed elsewhere.

"You want my advice?"

"Please Father." the young O'Kelly pleaded.

"Tell her you like her and ask her to the rally."

"That's it?" he replied, questioningly. "No 'Our Fathers'? No 'Hail Marys'? No repenting for my lustful thoughts?"

"Yes, that's it. Liking someone isn't a sin, and you can hardly control your dreams," he'd told himself the same thing just this morning, "but if you don't talk to her, I may just change my mind." he joked.

Peter had expected to hear Kevin leave, but he was waiting patiently to be dismissed on the other side of the woodwork.

"I forgive you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen." he repeated with little conviction.

Finally, a mumble could be heard on the other side, then the sound of Kevin leaving. He gave it a minute before exiting the confessional so he didn't stumble upon him; he liked to give people the illusion that even in a small town it was somewhat anonymous.

He wandered through the church on his way to disrobe. One of the other curates in the parish had lent him a short sleeve shirt and he was looking forward to wearing something lighter, even if he was sure some of the more pious parishioners would take a dim view of it. He could almost hear Kathleen mutter "thin edge of the wedge".

As he made his way towards the alter he noticed that he wasn't alone. Off to the side was shock of auburn hair he'd know anywhere. She was sitting at the end of a pew, her arm resting on the back and her hand propping up her head. He moved towards her instinctively; had it been anyone else he would have left them to their quiet reverie, or at most nodded as he went past. When he was close enough, he noticed that she wasn't in the middle of any serious contemplation, she was sleeping. He'd never seen her sleeping before. He'd seen her angry when he'd woken her, or on the verge of sleep, but never in the act. He was so used to seeing her spirited and animated that he wasn't sure how to approach her. Very slowly, he sat down next to her, wondering if he should wake her, and hoping he didn't.

Sitting next to her, her forgot all about how hot he was getting and studied her. She was wearing a light cotton dress, the skirt just sitting on her knees; modest by the previous days' standards, but somehow it appealed to him even more. If anyone asked, he would never deny that she was beautiful: her hair framed her face perfectly, her cheeks were slightly rosy, and her skin was like porcelain. How much his admiration spilled over into longing, and how obvious it was to her, he didn't like to analyse. Oh for a solution as simple as Kevin's! A bubble of laughter formed in his chest at the parallels between himself and the teenager. He was able to smother it well enough, but the slight shake of his frame woke his companion.

"Have you always had a habit of startling people, or is that something they taught you in the seminary?"

"It could be argued you startled me. It's not every day I find you here."

"I thought I'd see if I could get hell to freeze over and break this damned heat wave."

This time he let himself laugh freely. The sound echoed round the otherwise empty church and brought a smile to her face.

"How are things?" he asked, looking at her and seeing the tell-tale signs of exhaustion in her posture.

"The pub's been heaving, what with it being birdman design headquarters. Everyone's soliciting Siobhan and Brendan's advice."

"Trying to find out what will impress the judges? I hope they're not going to play favourites."

"You might have to add a 'Most Gullible' category. The pair of them are having a right time of it. When I left, Siobhan was talking about which land bound animals she though were the most aerodynamic, while Brendan was holding a lecture on aviation and the Spice Girls."

"How are they at all related?"

"Apparently Girl Power is as strong as the laws of aerodynamics. Anyway, I needed somewhere quiet to sit down for a bit. Figured no one would look for me here."

"Sit down? You were asleep." he said with a hint of mirth.

"So? I'm tired and hot, and this stone floor is surprisingly cool." She said sliding her feet back and forth on it.

He looked at her feet and noticed that she was barefoot, her shoes kicked off to the side. He couldn't remember seeing her bare feet before. It was amusing to discover that a woman feared by many painted her toenails pale blue. Amusing, and slightly arousing.

"Ah, c'mon Peter, don't tell me you haven't been tempted to take a nap here in the pews these last few nights. If your bedroom is as steamy as mine-" she stopped short realising she had just broached a topic that was most definitely off limits.

"Hardly." he snorted.

He'd never seen her bedroom, but if it was anything like he imagined – and he'd imagined it often enough recently – his sparse room could hardly compare to the sumptuousness of hers, and the things they did in it in his mind. It took a moment for him to notice that Assumpta was staring at him. He thought back over what he'd said and realised what he'd implied.

"I didn't mean you have… I wasn't implying that you sed…" he stuttered, then took a deep breath. "What I meant was, you've got the heat of the whole pub to deal with while I've just got my little place. Oh God, I'm sorry Assumpta." Peter finished, looking mortified at his fumbling apology.

"Well I'd best be getting back to my temptress' lair and see if I can't find some innocent to corrupt." she said, smiling.

"Look, wait here for a minute and I'll come with you."

"Volunteering for the position are you?" she goaded.

"What are you offering?" he said, his voice dropping a few tones.

_What are you doing?!_ He asked himself. He'd just rescued himself from one situation only to throw himself into a more precarious one. At this rate he'd be propositioning her before the end of the day.

"Only the very best." she replied in a comically seductive tone. "Pint of the icy stuff and a packet of crisps."

He released the breath he'd been holding, relieved that she was playing it for a joke. Had she taken him seriously and offered something more tempting, he wasn't exactly sure he'd have refused. He jumped up and quickly made his way towards the vestry, a "back in a mo'" and "wait for me" thrown casually over his shoulder as he disappeared.

* * *

The walk to the pub was brisk and slightly awkward. Peter couldn't trust himself, and little did he know but neither could Assumpta. She'd used up all her reserves of deflective humour for one day. She spent the entire walk mentally berating herself; she still couldn't understand how she'd almost propositioned him in his church of all places! It didn't help that twice they had been walking close enough for their bare arms to brush. The first time sent shivers down her spine. The second, she'd wanted to wheel round, pin him to a wall and kiss him senseless.

"Did you get what you were after?" Niamh asked as the two of them entered.

"Ah, no. Thanks for looking after the place." Assumpta replied evasively, taking her place behind the bar to tend to the lunchtime rush, while Peter perched on a stool.

"Sorry, did I stop you from getting what you were after?" Peter asked innocently.

She had completely forgotten that she had told Niamh she was going out to get supplies. All she'd been thinking about was that she hadn't seen Peter in nearly two days, and knowing he was at St Joseph's, she wasn't about to let any more time pass.

"No, no, it's fine. Nothing urgent. Pint?" she said, ignoring Niamh's questioning glance.

Without waiting for his reply, Assumpta put a glass under the spout and filled it. The machine Liam and Donal had brought had worked perfectly. The icy liquid caused condensation to form almost instantly. He looked at it carefully before lifting it to his mouth for a taste.

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but Liam and Donal are geniuses!" he said, turning to the lads who were at a table nearby.

Hearing their names, the two looked up from their sketch pad, smiled and nodded, then returned to huddling over their work. Peter took a good look around and noticed that nearly everyone was similarly engaged. Siobhan was in the middle of explaining how emus were "designed to fly, they just needed a cooler climate" to one table, while Brendan was being told to "bog off" by Padraig and Kevin. Ambrose was just a stool away and – again – on his own looking miserable, drawing pictures in the condensation on his glass.

"Ach, drinking the devil's brew I see Father." Brendan said, sidling up beside Peter and ordering a Guinness.

"And you're playing the devil with everyone here I see." he replied. "What are you up to exactly?"

"Ah, now y'see Father, we're just helping to make our jobs a little easier for the 'Most _original_ costume' award. It'd hardly be original if a competitor had got their idea from the judges now would it? And if we also happen to be contributing to the number of entrants for 'Funniest moment', well, that's just a bonus." Brendan mused, turning with his pint and surveying the scene.

Peter couldn't help but notice that Brendan's gaze landed on Siobhan and stayed there. He also couldn't help but notice the smile on Brendan's face seemed more than friendly. Peter was certain he wore the same one just about every time he looked at a certain publican. He decided it was best not to interrupt, so turned to Ambrose.

"Are you looking forward to Saturday Ambrose?"

"Of course he is." Niamh piped in, not disguising the bitterness in her voice. "He'll have an entire county of scantily clad women to keep him entertained."

She slammed a packet of crisps in front of Peter and stormed off, pausing to say something to Assumpta before leaving to collect Kieran.

"I won't be going." Ambrose replied, dejectedly.

"Ambrose had quite the busy morning, arresting a group up near Eamon's farm." Assumpta began to explain to Peter.

"Really? Were they causing a problem?" Peter asked the two of them.

Ambrose mumbled something into his pint. Peter looked to Assumpta for clarification.

"They were performing a rain dance."

"OK, that's not too-"

"Nude." she clarified.

"Oh. Oh right. Well… Sorry to hear you're having a hard day." he said, not knowing what else to say.

The two sat in silence while Assumpta answered the phone. Peter was searching his brain for a topic that might go some way to alleviating the garda's misery, but was saved the effort when Assumpta beckoned him over. Covering the mouthpiece, she motioned for him to follow her. They stood in the doorway to the kitchen, just out of sight of the rest of the pub.

"It's for you. It's Michael." she said, holding the receiver to him.

"Thanks. Hello Michael? It's Peter."

Assumpta had been rendered immobile when Peter's hand touched hers as she gave him the receiver. After a drought of his presence, she was enjoying the proximity to him so much that it was only after she heard the shift in Peter's tone to one of concern, she realised she should give him some privacy. She hadn't listened to what was being said, but she knew it wasn't good news. As she moved away, she was stopped by Peter's hand on her shoulder.

"Assumpta will know the directions, yeah?" there was a pause as he listened to the reply. "OK. I'll be there as soon as I can. Bye"

Reluctantly, he removed his hand from her shoulder, his fingers skimming down her arm for a moment. She turned and took the receiver from his hand to put back on the cradle.

"What's wrong?" she asked, trying to keep her level of concern in check.

"Can you write out the way to the O'Connell's place?"

She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and as she wrote them out she explained them to him. Finished, she handed him the paper. The look on his face made her want to hug him; he looked devastated.

"Do you want me to drive you?" she asked, hoping he would say yes.

"Nah, you look after your flock." he replied, mustering up a crooked smile.

He grabbed her hand and pressed it between his, the instructions crumpling. He added, "But thanks for the offer." and dashed off.

Assumpta's legs turned to jelly, and she sat down heavily on a nearby chair, chastising herself for being so easily affected by him. After all, she wasn't some Jane Austenesque love struck woman who could be induced into matrimony by a mere holding of hands. She was a strong, independent, educated, 90s businesswoman. A strong, independent, educated, 90s businesswoman who was determined not to let another 48 hours lapse before she saw a funny, kind, gentle curate again.


	5. Chapter 5

Mornings had taken on a special appearance in the last week. The bright light illuminated every aspect of the countryside, right down to the thinnest blade of grass. For the few people who made the effort to be out and about, and for the even fewer who took the time to notice the beauties of nature, the late summer triggered blooms that were rarely seen and just as glorious as their spring counterparts.

* * *

A hot wind blew Assumpta's hair into her face. She'd neglected to take Fionn for a walk for several days, and now she was glad for the excuse to wander past the cottage with the red door. It was early, but she knew that Peter would have been up and about for ages already, so dropping by was a perfectly acceptable thing to do. He hadn't made it back to the pub yesterday and she wanted to check that he was OK. That and she wanted to see him – she'd given up denying it to herself, after all he was a good friend, and good friends checked up on each other. Had the roles been reversed, he'd have done the same for her, she was certain.

Her first knock was light. When there was no response she knocked again, more assertively. Fionn strained on the leash wanting to get out of the sun and into some shade, but Assumpta didn't move. She was about to knock a third time when she heard slow, heavy footsteps.

Peter opened the door. He had to blink several times before his eyes adjusted to the light enough to see anything but blinding white, and when they did there was no mistaking the silhouette before him.

"Assumpta? Is there... What are... Morning!" he finally landed on when his brain caught up with his mouth.

"Morning to you too. I was just passing and thought I'd check that everything was ok. We didn't see you again last night and I thought..." she trailed off, not sure how she wanted the sentence to end.

"Tea?" he asked, moving aside so she could come in.

"I don't want to put you to any trouble." she said entering, Fionn escaping her hold, running in front of the two of them and flopping unceremoniously on the floor by the back door.

"Trouble? Tea is the Englishman's lifeblood. I put the kettle on before I answered the door." he said, a smile playing about his lips.

She followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table, fidgeting with her keys while he made the tea. She was not used to spending time in his house; the few times she had, there were compelling reasons for her to stay. Now he was handing her a mug and sitting down opposite her, and she was at a loss. She knew they needed to talk about something, silences were awkward between them, so she searched her mind for something, anything that wasn't weather related or taboo. Her eyes landed on his clothes: he was wearing a t-shirt that had the image of a priest's clerical clothes on it – dog collar and all.

"I know you take your vocation seriously, but that shirt is a bit much even for you isn't it?"

"It was a gag present from my brother Andy last Christmas. He's ever the joker, and ever the lazy gift buyer. If it has anything to do with priests or religion hey buys it for me."

"Remind me not to get you the Atone Mints I saw in Kildargen."

"Oooh no, they sound good! Better than the scripture shorts he bought me." he said, his eyes and his subtle shift in his chair indicating she should look down.

Assumpta chuckled at the ridiculous outfit, and at the fact that Peter would even wear it.

"So you're sleeping in uniform as well?" she teased.

"No. Who can wear anything in this heat?"

"Tell me about it."

It took a moment for them to realise what they had just shared. They digested the revelation along with a large swig of tea. Oh, how those seeds of information were going to grow in their fertile imaginations! Assumpta was the first to find her voice. She remembered that she'd come to find out about the previous night, something which would have been handy minutes before.

"So, is everything alright at the O'Connell's?"

"As good as it can be. They'd been looking after June's mother for the past few months. It was bound to happen sooner or later." he said, the sympathy evident.

"I'm sure they would have preferred later."

"Yeah, well… I was talking to them for a long time. They're as OK as they can be."

"But what about you?"

"I'm just tired. I didn't get back till, oh, about 3am."

Peter stifled a yawn. He was trying to hide just how tired he really was; he didn't want her to leave. He downed the last of his tea, put the mug heavily down on the table and gave her a weary smile. Sitting at the kitchen table, drinking cups of tea, talking about work, the dog snoozing in the background - they were almost the perfect picture of a happy young couple. The only thing missing was breakfast. Peter was not one for daydreaming, but in that moment he saw an image of himself leaning over and lightly kissing her before heading up to get changed. Domestic bliss was a foreign concept for Peter, but he felt it was becoming a little less abstract. The irony that his cottage would never see such a scene was not lost of him, nor was his hunger as his stomach grumbled. She raised her eyebrows at the noise.

"Sorry, I haven't eaten yet. All I have in the fridge is milk and a packet of choc caramel Digestives."

"Breakfast of champions." she commented as he retrieved the biscuits, popped one in his mouth and offered them to Assumpta. She declined. "You know, I can fix you up something at the pub if you'd like – compensation for waking you up."

"Thanks but I should head to Kathleen's and fix my paltry pantry. Anyway, no doubt someone would have woken me soon enough, and I'd much prefer it were you."

Peter's brain was not filtering his words properly, and if he remained in Assumpta's presence it would only get worse; of that he was certain. He shoved two biscuits in his mouth at once and dropped the packet in front of a wide-eyed Assumpta who was now barely containing her amusement.

"You are such a boy." she laughed, shaking her head.

With some pointing and unintelligible mumbling through the food in his mouth, he let her know he'd walk with her to the shop. As he left her, Assumpta wondered when they'd got to the point that they could understand each other in such situations.

* * *

Hendley's was surprisingly busy for the hour. Assumpta followed Peter in, joking that he couldn't be trusted with breakfast goods. They were arguing over cereals when their friends appeared.

"Brendan! Siobhan!" Peter cheerfully greeted. "I'm glad I bumped into you. I was hoping to see you both about tomorrow. We're setting up later this morning and I was wondering if you wanted to come along. Work out where to do the judging from, that sort of thing."

Peter grabbed the box Assumpta had been trying to foist on him and added it to the Coco Pops he was holding. "You too Assumpta. I thought you'd like to oversee the bar area."

"Sounds good to me." said Siobhan, looking to Brendan who had subtly shifted away from her.

"Sure. I'm free." Brendan added, careful to avoid the vet's gaze.

"Mornin' Kathleen. Coping with the heat OK?" Peter asked politely as they approached the counter.

"Ah, Kathleen will tell you that this is nothing compared to the punishment of some of the heatwaves of the past, won't ya Katheen?" Brendan remarked.

"If this is what Hell is like Father, I want a full list of confession and service times." Siobhan chuckled in her gravelly tone, handing money over to Kathleen.

The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed and her mouth became pinched. Her till bore the brunt of her displeasure, which seemed to grow with every item. Her key tapping became more violent as she rang up each person's purchase.

"Siobhan Mehigan: saviour of our sin city." Brendan stated wistfully, jokingly putting a hand on his heart.

"That'll be Saint Siobhan to you." she played along.

"People don't honestly believe that's what's happening do they?" Assumpta asked Peter as he handed Kathleen his groceries, their friends carrying on beside them.

"There are some in the community who believe that, while comparatively mild, this is God's way of telling us that he's displeased." Peter carefully replied, all too aware that one of those community members was in front of them.

"Surely the big man has better things to do with his time than smite a blip of a town that's biggest sin is having an English priest." jibed Assumpta, pushing Kathleen to breaking point.

"What sort of idyll do you think we're living in? Of course we're being punished and it's all because of him," she cried, her temper cracking, and pointing at Peter, "and his sacrilegious ways – going about the place, encouraging men to fly, turning a blind eye to pagan rituals and encouraging promiscuity! Really! And you two," she wheeled around, pointing to Brendan and Siobhan, "and your, your… late night fraternising!"

Peter and Assumpta were used to being the targets of Kathleen's vitriol, so were surprised when she pulled their friends into the mix. They looked over at the teacher and the vet to see how they bore it, and noticed that they looked rather sheepish and were suddenly tremendously interested in the linoleum. Obviously, what both Peter and Assumpta had witnessed in the pub had gone further than a few kind words and longing looks.

All four of them shuffled out of the store and gathered on the footpath, stunned. It was Peter who finally spoke.

"Right. Well. I'll, er, just run back and, um, drop off my stuff."

"I'll go get the jeep. We can all go together. Bring Fionn, _he _will like the run around." Siobhan stated, shooting a look at Brendan before departing in the opposite direction.

Assumpta and Brendan stood in silence. Assumpta was finding it hard to look her old teacher in the eye lest she burst out laughing. It wasn't often she saw him truly sulking like a naughty teenage.

"So… Not enough breakfast at your place for two?" she pushed.

"Funny time for you to be playing house with the local priest." he bit back.

The two of them glowered at each other until the rumble of the Land Rover ground to a halt behind them. Brendan slinked into the front passenger seat while Assumpta waited for Peter. After five minutes of barely concealed bickering by the two in the car, Assumpta was beginning to worry about Peter. Just as she was about to retrieve him, she saw his loping form approach.

"Sorry. Slight change of plans" he said, catching his breath. Short distances felt like miles in the heat. "Father Mac called. It seems I've been summoned again."

There was something in Peter's tone and body language that made Assumpta want to reach out and hold his hand, to give him some of her strength. She didn't. There were too many sharp eyes in the brilliant morning light.

"Everything alright Peter?" Brendan asked, having wound down the window.

Looking at the two before him, Brendan wondered if he'd been too harsh on Assumpta. He also wondered who else had noted the publican's shopping expedition with the priest and just how quickly the Wicklow gossip grapevine worked.

"Everything's fine. I'll meet you guys at the lake when I'm finished." he said with more faith than he felt.

He opened the back door for Assumpta and Fionn, the latter of which bounded in while the former scrutinised Peter's face, searching for hidden truths. She didn't think Peter was being called in to be praised for his work over the past days, regardless of how much he deserved it. Not finding anything to make her too anxious, she got in the car.

It wasn't until they were driving away that she saw his head bow and his shoulders slump.

* * *

_For those still along for the ride, this won't be descending into a drama laden story. More urst will be back soon!_

_As always, reviewers welcomed with open arms. I'd love to know what people think of this chapter as I feel it's more purpose-serving than the ones before and thus might have a different effect.  
_

_I do so love to hear from all you readers - your words make the chapters come faster than you probably realise :)  
_


	6. Chapter 6

There was something about Father Mac's office that always reminded Peter of the head master's office at his high school. He'd only ever been called in to face the music once during his teenage years, but during those five minutes, every detail had been etched into his memory. Sitting across from his superior, he took in the dated desk, the leather bound books, the filing cabinets and wondered if there was a specialist line of office supplies just for Catholic institutions.

Father Mac had started with a litany of misdemeanours: dirty windows in the church; Monopoly money in the collection box; the excessive costs of materials for the Sunday School, etc, etc. The one thing Peter noticed wasn't on his list was the amount of money he'd raised. Through participation fees alone, Peter had raised more than the combined total of the last five attempts at church fundraising in the entire parish. Peter had hoped the fundraising would buy him a little immunity from the worst of the lectures, but a subtle shift in Father Mac's tone and body language indicated otherwise.

"Now on to a serious matter. I've had some disturbing reports about things that have been happening in Ballykissangel."

"Disturbing? I'm not sure what you mean." Peter replied, confused.

"Father Clifford, you have people running about without any regard for decency, and promiscuity is rife. What do you have to say for yourself?"

He should have seen this coming.

"Me? How is that my fault?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Father Mac looked incredulously at the younger man. "These people, to whom you are supposed to provide spiritual and moral guidance, have been left in the wilderness to fend for themselves. Had you not been gallivanting about the place, none of this would have happened."

Had he been in a cartoon, Peter was sure steam would have been billowing from his ears. He was shocked, astonished, and most of all, angry. His face had reddened, and a blood vessel on his temple was clearly visible.

"What," he said through gritted teeth, "are you saying? That I'm responsible for the actions of fully grown and consenting adults?"

"I'm saying that had they had proper guidance from their local priest, they would have chosen different ways of… expressing themselves." he replied, condescension oozing from every syllable.

"So I'm responsible for all this because I was off doing what _you_ asked me to do?"

"I never asked you to put on this flying thing."

"No you just asked me to funnel people's money into the church and away from local business."

"And what a sterling job you've done of that." came his sarcasm laden reply.

Peter knew that this was not a fight he was going to win no matter how he tried to argue it. He should have seen this coming; Father Mac was nothing if not an expert at the art of putting him between a rock and a hard place.

"Well, if I'm doing such a terrible job, what would you _suggest_ I do?"

"Now Father Clifford, no one is saying you're doing a bad job." he replied, his conciliatory tone pushing all Peter's buttons.

"Saying, insinuating, it's the same thing isn't it?" he spat back.

Father Mac chose to ignore the comment and proceeded, "I _suggest_ that you reconsider your words for a start. Your attitude is hardly fitting for your position. Now, as to the recent issues what I recommend is…"

Peter switched to autopilot letting the parish priest dole out advice he knew was as ill-considered as it was out of date, and pondering what qualifications a Catholic office supplies manufacturer might require.

* * *

The phone rang, waking Peter from his uncomfortable slumber on the sofa. He'd been so worked up after his meeting with Father Mac, he'd gone home to cool off before going to the lake, and collapsed with exhaustion. The colour of the light through the windows told him it was late afternoon; he'd missed them. He was about to leave for the pub to apologise when the phone rang. He knew what the person on the other end of the line would be requesting; he'd had to attend three deaths in two days. Extreme weather always cut a swathe through the flock. At least his path to the dying wouldn't be hindered by icy roads.

He answered, took careful note of the address and directions, and within five minutes was out the door and in his car. He hoped no one else would call while he was out, and more pressingly, that the morgue would be able to cope if this heatwave continued.

It didn't take too long to get to the house – he knew the roads much better these days – and found Michael in attendance as well.

"Am I too late?" he asked as Michael made room for Peter next to the bed.

"Not this time, though I don't expect we have long to wait." Michael replied in a hushed tone, careful not to be overheard by the woman's husband.

Peter administered the last rights and spoke to the husband for a short time. There wasn't much more he could do, but he waited around for a little while all the same, just in case. Michael was right, it didn't take long, and Peter was soon in his car and on his way back home.

* * *

The smell of cool water wafted across the hills and into Peter's car. He'd missed it on his drive to the house as he did everything he could to get there as fast as possible, but there was no ignoring it now. The water would soothe his body and soul. Anger was still simmering under the surface after his earlier encounter with Father Mac.

Just beyond the road that tomorrow would take him to the rally, was an older track leading towards the water's edge. Peter didn't want to take the car down it, certain that the corrugation would be damaging to the suspension and his spine, so he parked at the top. He rummaged around the back seat looking for the small towel he kept there to dry his hair off on rainy days. He found it and a Boro shirt. There was no point in getting his clerical shirt dirty, so he took it off and chucked it on the back seat. The cooler air was like a balm on his skin. Looking around to make sure no one else was there, he wandered down the path shirtless.

The road took him to a part of the lake perfect for swimming. Off to the side he could see the marquee and the chairs and tables that had been arranged for the rally. Peter had been taken aback by the readiness of Councillor Burrows to get behind the event, and his helpfulness in arranging permits and equipment, but now he wondered if it had anything to do with the elections next year. Was he just some patsy, there to raise money for the parish and the profiles of greasy pole climbers? Was he ever going to be able to find a balance between the needs of the community and the desires of the church? Was he ever going to be free of the Father Macs and Kathleens of the world? Another question nipped at the edges of his consciousness, one that had been lurking in the background for some time.

Peter kicked his shoes off and walked the water's edge, letting the waves lap at his toes. Cold. Beautifully cold. He had to stop himself from driving straight in. He took one more look around to make sure the area was deserted, then stripped down to his underwear, throwing his clothes and towel towards his shoes before taking the first tentative steps.

The feeling of the cold water as it inched up his calves was divine. He could feel the tension ebbing away. When the it hit the backs of his knees the water suddenly went from relaxingly cold to outright freezing; every muscle clenched and he held his breath. He had two choices: continue on the slow path or get the inevitable over with quickly. Knowing that the end result was the same either way, Peter steeled himself and dived under the water. He emerged feeling refreshed and content.

Peter floated about on his back, losing himself in nature's beauty. The long sunset gave the lake a pinkish hue and intensified the green of the countryside. It was difficult for Peter to work out just how long he'd been in the water from the sky alone but he was in no hurry to leave and let himself wallow a little longer.

So engrossed in his musings was Peter, that he failed to notice a slight disturbance in the water until it was too late. The first thing he knew was that something had grabbed him around the ankle, and a split second later he was being yanked under the water. He was not a strong swimmer, but his instinct to get to the surface took over. Kicking his legs to free himself and flailing his arms, his ankle was released, and he emerged spluttering. He wiped the water from his eyes and whipped his head in every direction to look for the source of his ordeal. It took a moment to see the bubbles a few feet away, and soon afterwards, the culprit.

"Assumpta!" he cried, half astonishment, half chastisement.

"Careful there, you could've knocked me out!" she grinned, wiping her hair from her face.

"Careful? Me? You attacked me!"

"Attacked is a bit rich. Having a bit of fun at your expense perhaps."

Peter's irritation melted when confronted with the joyful expression on Assumpta's face. It was rare to see her look so happy and carefree, and if his embarrassment was the price he had to pay, he was hardly going to complain.

"How was I supposed to know you weren't some sort of Loch Ness monster." he replied, playfully splashing water in her face.

"Afraid of what lurks beneath the surface?" she joked, splashing him back. "If it helps, next time I'll give you fair warning and hum the Jaws theme."

To emphasise her point, she started moving around him in a circle singing the theme.

"What are you doing out here anyway?" he asked when she'd finished.

"Harassing an inattentive curate with a fear of monsters." she jibed, to which she received a withering stare before continuing, honestly. "Ah, there were a few things I wanted to fix up before tomorrow morning."

"A few things?" he asked, sceptically.

"Oh, you know. Position the tables and chairs properly. Drop off the spare generator. Those kind of things."

"Spare generator?"

"Brian's. Niamh leant it to me. They have a tendency to break down in the heat."

Without needing to be asked, without hesitating, Assumpta had taken care of everything he hadn't. As selfish as it was, Peter would have liked to believe that she was doing it in some small part for him, but as he cast his mind back, he knew that she did it because she cared for everyone; she wanted to make sure everyone had as good a time as possible. The staunchly anti-church publican was always there to help those in their little community, to do whatever she could, no questions asked, no strings attached. He couldn't help but wonder at the fact that the one person in town least likely to turn to the church was the one person who showed the most Christian charity.

"I had no idea. You should've told me you were organising all this, I would've helped."

"It was nothing. Besides, I figured that when you didn't show up this morning you probably needed a break."

"A stiff drink and a punching bag would've been better."

"That bad hey?"

"Let's just say that I'm failing to provide the guidance the community needs."

"You're leading us all towards eternal damnation, is that it?" she asked, her temper arcing at the thought of Father Mac taking Peter to task.

"Not quite damnation, but certainly letting the congregation stray."

"Oh, so we all need constant guidance do we? No one in the town is old enough to make their own decisions? We can't be left untended for a moment without descending into some sinful cesspool?"

"He didn't use the word cesspool exactly."

"What words did he use then?" she demanded.

Her anger was boiling over. Ever defensive of her friends, she felt possessively so of Peter when it came to Father Mac.

"What does it matter? He's said his piece, and he made some good points."

"I'm guessing none of those good points had anything to do with your hard work. I bet he doesn't even…"

"Assumpta…" he pleaded, looking away from her.

It was no use, she was off on a rant. He could do nothing to stop her. Usually, he enjoyed watching her get worked up and passionate, perhaps a little too much. But this time was different. It was one thing to argue with Father Mac, it was another thing to have his same arguments and thoughts mirrored back at him. He wanted to agree with her, to tell her she was right, and that he'd wanted to tell the parish priest the same things. He began to move away from her, worried that he'd not be able to hold his tongue for much longer.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!" she said, noticing his movements. "At least stay here and look at me when I'm about to pay you a compliment would ya'?" she playfully chastised

"Sorry." he apologised, looking at her and moving closer.

She waited until he was back within arm's reach before continuing.

"Father Mac is an idiot." she stated as if it were law.

"I thought you said you were paying me a compliment."

"I am, if you'll let me finish. Father Mac is an idiot. He listens to those gossipmongers and doesn't use his own brain and eyes to see what a good job you're doing. You've got people excited about things. You've got people working together. Heck, you've even got Padraig to put aside a pint to help his son out. And tomorrow, you'll see that you've created something special for the community."

"You could have just told me I have nice eyes y'know." he deflected; her compliments making him uncomfortable.

"You have nice eyes. There, was that easier to take?"

"A little. Though perhaps I would've preferred a compliment about my hair." he joked.

"Oh for heaven's sake! You have nice eyes and a lovely hair. And," she emphasised seeing he was about to cut in, "everything else about you is lovely. You're perfect. You're Priestly Peter Perfect."

At the proclamation of this, the amused look on his face disappeared. Perfect. Priestly. He didn't feel close to either of those and hadn't for a long time. He wondered if he was just like the grains of sand under his feet, imperceptibly and inevitably moving towards the shore, towards a new world. More importantly, he wondered if he minded the change. If being just like Father Mac was his alternative destination, he couldn't help but feel relieved that he was moving in a different direction.

"I don't know what to say." he replied.

It was true. He didn't know what to say, though suddenly he knew what he wanted to say: '_you're amazing', 'you're beautiful', 'you mean the world to me'_. He was poised on saying something but her attention was caught by movement on the shore.

"Is that…? It is! Bloody fox, get away from our stuff." she yelled, splashing the water to try and scare it off.

She started out of the water just as it took off with her top. The two of them lumbered towards the shore, the silty sand and water resistance slowing their progress. When they finally made it to land they assessed the damage.

"Dammit! Did it get anything of yours?" she asked Peter.

"Just my towel. You?"

"An old top. Opportunistic bast-"

"It was only doing what comes naturally. It's probably taking it back to its den to keep its pups warm."

They both stood looking into the bushes where it had run off.

"You have no idea what you're talking about do you." she eyed him, calling his bluff.

"Nope."

"You were only saying that to calm me down weren't you?"

"Yep."

"At least you've answered the eternal question." she said, looking him up and down for the first time that evening.

"What's that?"

"Boxers or briefs." she replied, smirking and desperately trying not to stare at Peter's boxers as they clung to him.

"Always happy to help with life's biggest conundrums."

He hazarded a look over to Assumpta. The water and his own modesty had prevented him from seeing what she'd been wearing, but now there was no avoiding it: mismatched cotton bra and nickers. According to his every fantasy, she should be wearing matching black lace, but a tiny part of his brain reasoned that was hardly practical for an impromptu swim in the lake, and that she was not here to fulfil his dreams. Alas, with Assumpta's simple, unassuming beauty before him in the flesh, that same part of his brain replaced all the fantasy Assumptas with the real image of her as she was in that moment. Every carefully concocted scenario flashed before his eyes with the new and tantalisingly real image. It was almost too much for him to bear.

Peter tried not to stare at her, and made an unsuccessful attempt at drying himself by brushing water off with his hands. The lingering heat and the light breeze went some way to aid his efforts but it was no use. Assumpta saw what he was doing and handed him her towel.

"Here, I think you need this more than I do."

He took the proffered material and in return held out his t-shirt for her.

"And I think you need this more than I do."

"Afraid of what people might think if they saw us together with fewer clothes than normal?" she remarked, aiming for humour but landing closer to annoyance.

"It's not other people I'm worried about." he whispered, looking at the ground.

He expected the words to fall at his feet, but the breeze carried them straight to Assumpta's ears. She pulled the t-shirt over her head so she could give herself a moment to compose herself. When she looked back at him, he was vigorously drying himself, unaware she'd heard him.

"Where's your car?" he asked when his trousers were back on and the towel wrapped around his shoulders.

"Over by the marquee."

"Oh." was all Peter managed in response.

They were going to have to part ways. Assumpta assumed Peter's solemnity was to do with the rally the next day.

"Chin up Charlie Brown. Tomorrow will be amazing. You'll see."

She would never be able to pinpoint the reason for what she did next, and had she given it any thought, she would never have done it. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, leant up and kissed him on the cheek. It was short and friendly, and slightly off target so the corners of their mouths brushed. The urge to do it again was strong, so strong she had to turn away quickly to avoid a less friendly repeat performance. She was about to run away when he grabbed her by the wrist. Reluctantly she turned to look at him.

"Thank you." he said, his thumb grazing across the back of her hand. "For everything."

He let go and they stood for a moment, staring at each other, until a cold breeze from across the water snapped them out of their trance and they turned and made their ways to their respective cars.

Neither showed that the exchange affected them even if hours later, in their respective beds, it was replayed over and over again, each time with a decidedly different conclusion.

* * *

_Apologies for the delay in posting this, hopefully the length will go some way to making amends for my tardiness. We're almost at the end but I'm afraid I've been spending all my time wallowing in the wonderful M-rated 'Driven Over The Brink' and 'The Human Condition' (change your filters if you haven't already!)._

_As always, reviews, comments, thought adored!_


	7. Chapter 7

_My sincerest apologies for the immense delay in posting this. It just wouldn't allow itself to be edited properly, and then serious job hunting got in the way. Now the new job is sorted, and this chapter edited! Ah, life is good._

_NOTE - Massive thanks to Louise who pointed out that somehow the upload of this chapter didn't work properly and a number of words were cut out/ rearranged... I hope I've got all of them!  
_

* * *

On this blazing Saturday, those not familiar with Ballykissangel and its surrounds were to be forgiven for thinking that it was a mecca for sun chasers. Mother Nature had saved her best for the weekend, and the day of the Birdman Rally had the mercury inching towards the hottest day on record. The sun bore down on the lake, and swarms of locals and holiday makers made the area look more like a seaside resort than a country retreat. Through the heaving crowd, one man could be seen, not taking part in any of the activities or revelry, but enjoying himself more than anyone else.

* * *

The crackle of the tannoy was followed by the splash of yet another body hitting water. Peter smiled as he wandered around the fields that were home to his event. Earlier he watched with astonishment as the crowds swelled, and what had started as a humble community event turned into a mini festival. Over where he and the publican had taken their swim the evening before, bodies of all shapes and sizes filled the water. A clutch of old tyre inner tubes, provided by a buoyant Padraig, housed the weaker swimmers, while the more competent pushed and pulled them along in a competition all of their own. Squeals of delight mingled with the sound of music as a band of locals dusted off their instruments for impromptu performances.

Walking around, brimming with energy and pride, Peter didn't notice the passage of time. It was well past midday when Michael noticed his sun tinged complexion and gave him strict orders to "get out of the sun and get some fluids into you". No one noticed if the smile he wore from his pleasure in the day became a little brighter at the realisation that a certain publican was manning the bar.

* * *

Assumpta had arrived early, along with all the others, but unlike everyone else she'd not spoken to Peter the whole time. Both were at opposite ends of the event, and equally busy. She'd caught glimpses of him all day, talking, laughing, and cheering, and she was biding her time till she could take a break and congratulate him. Alas, the customers were coming thick and fast, commandeering her attention; she was glad she'd roped in two helpers.

Approaching the bar, Peter saw the thick crowd and decided to wait, noting the now familiar slushie machine churning an unfamiliar blue liquid. As the queue thinned and the last of the customers were being served, he made his way behind the bar, careful not to be noticed. Three youngsters waited patiently as Assumpta poured three cups of the blue iced drink and handed them to the children. The youngsters carried their treasure with glee back to the makeshift beach.

"Corrupting the young and innocent?" he asked sidling up behind her.

"Geez, you scared me!" she breathed, putting a hand to her chest. She'd been trying to find him in the crowd so his sudden appearance had surprised her more than normal. Recovering enough to respond, she continued, "It's called blue lagoon. It's full of sugar, turns your mouth blue and is highly addictive to those under 12. Care for one?"

"Maybe later. Probably wouldn't look too good if I handed out the prizes looking like a lizard."

Assumpta chuckled at the image. She handed him a pint of iced water and watched as he downed it in one go. In his haste, a small amount of water trickled from the corner of his mouth, down his chin, along his throat and disappeared under his collar.

"Wow! I needed that."

"Yeah, wow…" Assumpta echoed under her breath then bit her lower lip.

It was getting easier for her to recover from the feelings he'd been evoking in her the entire week, and so it took but a moment for her to take the glass from his hand and give him a freshly poured larger. Peter rummaged round in his pocket for some money, but she stopped him.

"On the house. I think I owe you more than a pint after all the punters you've brought to my door this past week."

"That was hardly me. I'm not the reason we haven't managed to have a quiet drink since Sunday." he jokingly grumbled, waiting for the look that signaled she was about to argue with him, the look he liked more than he should. Before she could say anything, he continued. "Besides, you think I haven't noticed what you're doing? Cutting into your slush fund to make free drinks for the kids."

"Slush fund? Cute." she remarked, preparing to avoid any gratitude.

But Peter knew her too well. He knew she didn't like her generosity to be general knowledge, much less be thanked for it. He moved so that he was right in front of her, blocking any customers from seeing her, and a whole lot closer than was necessary.

"You don't owe me anything." he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "In fact, I'd say the reverse were true. My wish is your command."

"Really?" she queried, waiting for the punch line.

She caught his gaze and they looked at each other, all humour falling away. For one brief moment, their carefully constructed walls came down and they knew that he would give her anything she asked. Assumpta couldn't look away and she couldn't run. More surprisingly, she didn't want to. She felt herself moving closer still, dangerously close, and Peter's fingertips found hers.

It was at that moment Councillor Burrows descended upon them.

"Father Clifford! Just the man. I wanted to congratulate you on a cracking day." he boomed, his voice more effective than a bucket of iced water.

"Thank you Councillor." Peter replied, turning around and subtly putting distance between him and the publican."But I can hardly take credit for it. It's the people who've made it such a good day. I should be congratulating you. Without all your help -"

"Nonsense." Burrows proclaimed. "This is all down to you. If you ever get tired of the God business, we could do with people like you in the council. Ah, what am I saying? Even with the God business we need people with your ideas and chutzpah. Give my secretary a call during the week and we'll arrange a meeting."

Councillor Burrows clapped Peter on the back and, before Peter had time to respond, he had moved to have his photo taken with some of the contestants. Peter shook his head. He turned to see that Assumpta was also watching the councillor network his way through the masses.

"Chutzpah?" he asked.

"I believe he just got back from a junket to New York."

"Oy vey."

"You can say that again. Here comes Father Mac."

Peter had only moments to prepare himself, his superior's determined stride carried him towards the curate at a speed which no one else could muster in the heat.

"Father Mac, I hope you're enjoying yourself." Peter greeted.

"Father Clifford. Miss Fitzgerald." Father Mac returned with little interest in small talk. "I was wondering if you have a moment Father."

Assumpta moved away to serve customers, giving the men privacy, certain that a friendly chat was not on the cards. Despite being an avid avoider of gossip, she desperately wanted to stay and hear what Father Mac was saying. She'd seen the effects of his lectures on Peter, and wanted to know firsthand what they sounded like. Today was not to be that day. The heat and large crowd had made customers feel the need to talk louder than normal, and the two priests spoke in hushed tones. After years of experience behind a bar, however, she was able to take orders and pull pints while her attention was on the two men.

At first, everything seemed perfectly normal, as though they were discussing nothing more interesting than the weather. As the conversation progressed, subtle shifts were evident: Peter's spine straightened and he folded his arms, while Father Mac puffed his chest, and pressed his splayed fingertips together with palms open, putting them to his lips to cover his mouth but not his words. Peter's compressed lips and narrowed eyes had Assumpta seeing red. She wanted to throttle Father Mac for doing anything to mar Peter's day. Thinking quickly, she filled three pint glasses with iced water and made a bee line for Peter.

"… you must understand that I cannot allow..." the older man trailed off.

"Peter! Brendan, Siobhan and Michael are in desperate need of a drink. Could you take these over to them?" she held out the glasses and he took them, looking slightly perplexed. Turning to Father Mac, she apologised. "Sorry to interrupt Father."

"Not at all Miss Fitzgerald. We can't have anyone left to fend for themselves in this heat." he commented as Peter walked away. "You seem to be doing well today."

"Can't complain. It's not about business though is it." she said, chancing a look in Father Mac's direction. "Peter knows how to pull the community together for this sort of thing."

"Yes, _Father Clifford_ has a talent for putting on a spectacle."

Assumpta bit back her irritation and took a deep breath. There was no point wasting her energy on this man, she thought.

"Would you like a drink Father?" she asked, letting him think she'd taken him at face value.

"That's very kind of you. I'd love something nice and cold if you have it."

"I have just the thing."

* * *

_Would competitors 65 to 75 please make their way to the launch. Competitors 65 to 75 to the launch please._

The tannoy echoed and movement was seen about the place as people shifted to get a better view of the birdmen. Having delivered the drinks to his friends, Peter saw Niamh with baby Kieran on her knee, sitting at a table facing away from the pontoon. She looked tired and pensive, so Peter went to sit with her.

"How is Kieran enjoying the day?" he asked.

"Oh, just fine. We've had a paddle and a play and thoroughly tired ourselves out." she noted, Kieran yawning in her arms. "Probably time we got home."

"Can I get a hold before you whisk him away? You can go get a drink while I look after the little man."

"Oh, thank you Father!" Niamh said, relieved.

She handed Kieran to Peter and dashed off as only a mother given a reprieve can. Peter was more than happy to look after the contented child, and strolled back over to the judging area, describing everything as he went as though he were reciting a bedtime story. Niamh trotted back and was about to take Kieran when she stopped dead.

_Contestant 71, Ambrose Egan._

The pale body of the local Garda walked out onto the pontoon, wearing nothing but a pair of speedos and green satin cape. The laughs and cheers were drowned out by Niamh's sudden and sharp inhale.

"Ambrose? What in heaven's name is he… Oh no! No! He's not a good swimmer. Brendan, Siobhan, Michael, Father – stop him!"

The four looked at each other silently trying to work out who would explain. Holding the precious bundle, Peter felt it was up to him.

"Niamh. He really wants – "

His explanation was cut short. Ambrose had turned, seen Niamh, and shouted to her, "I love you Niamh Egan, and only you."

With a flourish, he swung back to face the lake, held open his cape and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. There was a very brief moment in which it looked like the Garda would glide calmly into the water, but it was not to be as his grip on the cape slipped and his fate was sealed. Niamh was rooted to the spot; she could do nothing but watch as her husband bobbed about before limping back to shore and finally made his way towards her.

"The water's colder than I thought." stuttered a shivering Ambrose. "How did I do?"

The judges had been too engrossed in his plight to have made any note of his jump. They were saved from answering as Niamh finally found her voice.

"Don't you be worrying about that. Let's get you home and dry." Niamh said, gathering Kieran in one arm and the clothes Michael held out in another.

"Did any of you see how he went?" Siobhan asked as they watched the retreating forms of their friends.

"I don't think it matters. He got his prize." Brendan volunteered.

No one could disagree, most especially not Ambrose.

* * *

The last of the competitors were lining up when Father Mac cornered Peter again. Peter had been discussing the awards ceremony with the judges and the local press when he heard the unmistakable cough behind him.

"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse us," Father Mac offered unapologetically, "but I'm going to need Father Clifford for a few moments."

Peter offered his companions his apologies and followed his superior off to the side. When they were out of earshot, Father Mac started.

"Well, have you given any consideration as to what I had to say before?"

"Strangely enough Father, I've been a little busy." Peter replied, trying hard to keep the exasperation from his tone.

"That's part of the problem! You're always busy, too busy to do justice to your duties."

"With all due respect Father, I thought I was performing my duties."

"Oh yes, I can see that. With nudity and promiscuity more prolific than ever! I mean, even Guard Egan was strutting about in his… his… Well you know!"

"Yes I do know. What would you have me do? Brush off some Victorian swimming costumes?"

"Don't try and twist this Father Clifford."

Peter's response was drowned out by an announcement.

_And today's last competitors: Liam and Donal._

All the pub regulars had been waiting for this moment. There were immense cheers and a roar of laughter as they took to the pontoon. Both priests turned to see what the fuss was about. Father Mac turned white, and then red. Peter was astonished.

No. They hadn't. They couldn't have.

But they had.

Liam and Donal were dressed as nuns, flying nuns with their habits fashioned into gliders.

"Father Clifford, you are to stop this at once!" Father Mac hissed.

"Why would he do that?" Brendan asked, overhearing the parish priest as he moved to get Peter."If they win, you lot can claim it was a miracle. If they lose, it was punishment for mocking the church. If they are simply average, they didn't have quite enough faith."

Peter struggled to repress the smile that was pulling at the corners of his mouth. He couldn't have said it better himself.

"At least they're more modestly attired." Peter managed to get out before the humour burst through and he had to hide his laughing as a coughing fit.

Father Mac seethed as Liam and Donal limbered up and the crowd cheered and applauded.

For many years to come, people would try to mimic the success of Liam and Donal's one and only flight. Indeed, neither Liam nor Donal was ever able to replicate it. Whatever maths, aerodynamics, wind currents or faith were responsible, everyone watched in awe as they were lifted higher than was possible to jump, and coasted further than any competitor.

"Well would you look at that Father!" Brendan remarked to the parish priest. "I'd say that was a headline the church could be proud of."

Before Father Mac could say anything, reporters and their photographers were crowding round, jostling the priests, judges and Liam and Donal around, getting them in position for pictures and interviews. Peter realised that his hard work was yet to come and that it would be some time before he would be free. He cast a look back towards the bar, and as if sensing his gaze, Assumpta looked up and smiled.

The rest of the afternoon suddenly didn't seem so bad after all.

* * *

_The next chapter will be the last, and it keeps wanting to be M-rated... Your thoughts my dear readers?_

_And dear readers, please be more than a number on a counter, and take the time to review. It means more than you may ever realise.  
_


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